A/N: Geez it's been a loooooooooooong time. And I changed my screen name in case no one had noticed. And I apologize for the long wait, I had a whole bunch of school stuff and no time off, but now I have a four day weekend so all is well. And before I waste too much of your time with a silly note (which half of you won't read anyway), I'm dedicating this chapter to Bella DeMuerte and Sands-agent, because it seems as thought they are the only ones reading this story. Now on with the story!

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The first two minutes of the car ride went by surprisingly smoothly. Sands smoked one of his cigarettes and leaned his head out the window letting his hair catch the breeze, while Mort kept his eyes on the road and kept the wheel steady with one hand. Out of the blue, Sands threw the cigarette into the street before it was even halfway done and began to fiddle obsessively with the radio. He passed a country station, a rock station, heavy metal, classical, punk, and a show tunes station. Quickly, he flipped back to the show tune and silently sang along to 'Somewhere Over the Rainbow' by Judy Garland.

Mort's eyes widened and he glanced over at his brother. After a few minutes of watching Sands not get a single word of the song wrong he began to chuckle. Sands immediately ceased moving his mouth.

"You have a problem, Mortie?" he drawled in a lazy way that seemed almost forced, as if he was trying to get a handle on his emotions.

"You can stop the charade now." He choked out the sentence between bouts of laughter. Soon he was laughing so hard that tears were welling up in his eyes. He had to pull over his Buick until he could compose himself. While he was wiping away the tears from the corners of his eyes he chuckled a bit more and finally said softly, "I haven't laughed that hard since-" he cut his words off short as memories flooded him. Damn that newspaper for accepting that story. What was so good about that one? Why weren't mine good enough? He snapped back into reality and shook his head. "I haven't laughed that hard in a long time." he finished.

"Can we get moving again?" Sands said half-impatiently. Something in the way that Mort had been acting was giving him the willies. He was smoking again and at this rate he would run out of cigarettes. "Oh and by the way, do you have a problem with me enjoying show tunes?"

"It doesn't seem like a very 'badass' thing. And you seem to be into that whole persona."

Sands mouth stayed open even after he had exhaled all the smoke that was currently spiraling away from his face and out the window of the piece of shit Buick that Mort drove. "Well what is that supposed to mean?"

"I mean lo-. All the black clothes, slick and smooth appearance. For chrissakes your fucking belt buckle has a marijuana leaf on it." Mort angrily shoved the car back into drive and pulled out onto the small road leading to the motel that held some...less than pleasant memories for one of the vehicle's occupants.

When the big red letters of the motel came into view Mort snatched the cigarette out of Sands' hand just after he took it out of the pack. He grabbed the lighter along with it and lit up. He took a long drag and shook his head as if trying to clear the fog that had settled around his brain, the fog that was dragging nostalgic dismay into the open battlefield of his mind's eye.

A sharp slap to the back of his head brought him back around and he yelped, "What the fuck?!"

"You passed the motel, fuckmook." Sands squirmed in his seat and tried to get comfortable. He leaned his head against the passenger door frame and ignored the pain of his sunglasses being shoved against his skull. He shifted a few more times and finally got fed up with the plastic hitting his face and wiped the glasses off. He tossed them onto the dashboard carelessly and snuggled into the suddenly comforting front seat of his older brother's car. He gave into the gently caress of sleep and let go of the question his mind wanted answered.

Mort did everything he could not to look over at what he knew would be there. He had heard the sunglasses hit the dash and forced himself not to use his peripheral vision. He made a U-turn and headed back towards the motel. When he parked the car he turned his head to wake up Sands and gagged. Mort squeeze his eyes shut and poked his little brother in the shoulder.

"Shel?"

Sands moved away from the poke.

"Wake up. We're at the motel. Now get out."

Sands stretched in the seat and hit Mort in the mouth. He snatched his sunglasses and placed them back on his face. He opened up the door and hopped down to the ground.

"See ya. I'm gonna go pick up a little snack." A small smirk crossed his face and he slammed the car door shut behind him.

Mort gulped and headed back to his cabin.

Sands walked confidently into the office of the motel. The smell of perfume and the sound of fake fingernails striking the keyboard told him that him might get his snack sooner than he thought. He felt around slightly for the bell and dinged it when his hands finally found what they were looking for. The typing stopped and he could hear gum popping.

"I'd like a room, please."

"Sure." The typing started again and the gum popped. "Name?"

"Sands."

"How will you be paying?"

"Cash."

"You're in room 3." The woman grabbed the key off the hook and held it out to him. The jingling of the bracelets on her wrists gave away her hand's location.

Sands grabbed her hand and the key with it. "What is your name, sugarbutt?"

The gum popped again. "Shirley."

"Well Shirley, I'm new in town and I don't have any idea where to find a bite to eat. Wanna give me," he brought her hand to his lips and kissed it, "A hand?"

He heard Shirley giggle and pop her gum again. "Sure. Let me just close up." She flicked the 'no vacancy' switch and a small 'NO' light up on the sign in the window. She walked around the desk and out the door, with Sands following her, licking his lips as he thought of the warm blood that was going to pass through his system.

The familiar whoop-whoop of the car unlocking reached Sands' ears and he groped for the door handle. When he opened the door he swung himself into the seat and leaned towards Shirley. He had his lips against her neck as he spoke, "Or I could just get bite to eat right here."

"How would you d-" a scream cut off the end of her sentence as Sands bit into her neck and sucked the life out of her. When he was done and she was a listless he licked along the bite marks that he had left behind. "That really hits the spot." He dragged her body back into the motel office and propped her up in the chair. He slit her neck down the two bites and made them become one. Then he grabbed a piece of tape and taped over the cut. He laid her head against the keyboard and shoved a piece of gum down her throat. He smiled to himself and walked to his room, feeling the numbers on all the doors until he found the right one. He laid down on the bed after locking the door and fell asleep.

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There it is! And the whole newspaper thing is from Stephen King's short story Secret Window, Secret Garden, which I just recently read and my characterization of Mort may begin to follow that version of him. I'll definitely add in plot points from that short story so if you need explaining simply ask. Thanks for reading!